Dead Inside
by Avila Grace
Summary: Pam's feelings, uncensored. Set during Season Three. Warnings: Adult language. Violence. Abuse.


_A/N: Something I wrote quickly when feeling a bit bummed out and angsty. I've heard I write angst/emotion well, so I decided to try my hand at it again. Definitely a one-shot, no plans for anything further. I would say I hope you enjoy it, but mostly I just hope it hits you._

Please review.

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Pam unbuttoned her jeans, staring at herself in the mirror as she pulled her legs out of them, letting them fall to the floor in a heap around her feet. She pulled her shirt over her head, discarding it with the jeans, feeling a scowl form on her face as she took in the sight of herself. She quickly stripped off her bra and underwear, completely disgusted with what she saw in the mirror. She looked away quickly, scoffing to herself, before turning on the water and stepping into the shower.

She stood there as the water sprinkled down on her, icy cold. It was painful and chilly, but she enjoyed it. She knew it wasn't as nice as scalding hot, though, so she turned the knob as far as it would go to the right, feeling immense satisfaction when warm water overtook the cold, and feeling burning on her skin as the scalding hot water rushed over her body. It hurt, but she was glad for the pain.

She sat at the edge of the bathtub, drawing her knees to her chest and putting her head down against them, the hot water splashing over her. She wanted so desperately to cry, to let go of everything. She could have done it in her bed—it wasn't like anyone would have heard her lonely cries, but there was something about doing it with water pouring down on top of her. Being immersed in droplets of water that reminded her of her own tears. It was as if she was immersed in the tears of the world, immersed in the pain that surrounded her and clouded her every thought.

She could feel her skin turning red, and the pain shot through her, but it wasn't enough. She could hardly breathe. She felt as if all of the pain inside her was creating pressure against her insides, pushing her skin as far as it could, but it couldn't pop. She was unable to pop, unable to let the pain out. The pressure in her chest was nearly unbearable, but she couldn't let it go. She couldn't find a way to let it go.

Desperately, she wanted to cry. She thought of as many horrible things as she could, drowning kittens, shaken babies, murders. No tears came. She thought about him. All of the horrible things that he had done to her. And she couldn't cry. Her mind raced as she willed herself to let tears fall, to let some sort of pain out. Come on, she thought.

Jim. Her Jim. Her best friend who was apparently repulsed by her. Maybe not repulsed. He just didn't love her anymore. She wasn't good enough. She was too fat. Her hair was too crumpled. Her clothes didn't fit her right. She was too short. Too quiet. Everything was wrong with her in the world. There was nothing right about her. Nothing. She was all ugly, that's all she was. And why would a guy like Jim like her? Why would he ever want her? Why had she ever hoped he would.

She wanted to hurt him at that moment. She wanted to kick him. Slap him. Bite him. Pull his hair. She wanted to say mean things to him, things that nobody had ever uttered to another person because it was so morally wrong. She wanted to scar him for life like he had scarred her. She wanted to punish him. For everything he had done to her. The only thoughts racing through her mind were how to punish him. How to make him feel all of the pain he had made her feel. How to hurt him so horribly that her pain would be gone. That she would feel relieved. Happy again. She didn't even know what happy looked like anymore.

The pain is too much to bare. The pressure that threatens to overwhelm her and kill her has seemingly gotten more force and her skin feels as if it couldn't stretch anymore. She feels as if everything inside of her body that was once flesh or muscles has evaporated and turned into pain. Searing pain. Pain unlike any other pain she's ever felt. She wonders if she's better off alone. Without him. Without anyone. Carrying her pain around like she carries her head and her fingers. It being attached to her. A part of her. She knows she will never find anyone else. She's just simply not good enough. No man would ever take her when he could have someone else.

She picks up the razor from the side of the tub, running her finger over the handle, the blade. She knows its horrible to think it, but for a moment, she just wants to cut herself. To feel as if some of the pain is oozing out of her with the blood. To just get rid of some of it, that's her only goal. She hates feeling this way. She hates feeling as if she can't move, as if the entire weight of the world—and so much more---rests on her shoulders, on her heart. She knows it doesn't. She knows it's not the whole world on top of her, but she feels like it is. And she understands why people cut themselves, why they attempt suicide. Why people physically hurt themselves and other people. The pain. It's just too great. Too powerful. Too forceful. It has taken over her body, and she knows it's just a matter of time.

She puts the blade to her leg and pulls hard, fast. It hardly stinks and she realizes that the blade isn't strong enough. It's not sharp enough. She wants to scream. Even her fucking razor isn't on her side. She feels as if the world is closing in around her. She brings the razor to her leg again, higher up this time, pulling the blade faster and longer across her leg. She feels a bit of a sting and sees a few specks of blood pop out, but nowhere near what she needed. She needs oozing. Bandage around the leg because it won't stop spilling out. That's what she needs. That's the only way she'll feel better. She holds the razor to her wrist for a moment and then stops, scared to go any further. Knowing she couldn't do that. There are people who care about her, she knows that. But mostly, she'd be embarrassed. She doesn't want to be remembered that way.

She puts the razor down and looks around the bathroom for anything that would burn. Her eyes are burning from the water that's accumulated in them, and she's glad for the burn. But she wants something that will burn her whole body. Her body has taken in the scalding hot water like it's taken in the pain from him. It's become a part of her. Her body is turning red, but she doesn't care. The pain feels so good. So friendly. So familiar.

She looks up at the ceiling, thinking of him. Cursing him for being so amazing, so perfect. She can hardly be mad at him. She knows she's just mad at herself. She's angry. Frustrated. How could she fall this hard for him? How could she let down her walls again. They were up for a reason, she tells herself. They weren't supposed to be knocked down. They'll never be knocked down again. She doesn't know how she can live to the next day.

She closes her eyes and sees herself, sitting there with coffee, across the table from him. He's telling her about Stamford and she's trying to listen. And then he mentions it. He found a girl. He mentions it to her and she wants to get up and kill him, right there. The pain is so strong, and all of a sudden, she can't breathe. She can't take one more sip of her coffee. It's all she can do to listen to him even begin to describe her. He just says her name, and already she hates him. She hates the situation.

But the problem is, she doesn't hate him. She can't possibly hate him. And he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand the agony of watching your heart break itself. He doesn't understand the agony of watching someone take your heart and then stomp on it, throw darts in it, throw it in a fiery furnace. It's black now. Nearly ashes. She hardly has one left. He doesn't understand what it's like to have your heart given back to you like that. All of that trust. Gone.

And she knows she needs to talk about it. She knows she needs to get rid of this. But she can't. She can't because the one person she wants to talk about it to is him. The man that broke her. The one person that could heal her is him, and he won't. He won't. She feels helpless, and the pain is eating at her more and more. She can't breathe. She can't think.

The water is rising around her, and she can feel the burn once again. She doesn't know what to do. Whatever she tries won't let the pain leave. She just wants to scream. She wants to scream it hurts so badly.

She brings her arm to her lips and bites into it, hard. It feels amazing. She screams into her arm the loudest she's ever screamed, and she's sure he can probably hear her. She's sure the entire state can hear her. She's not screaming anything, she's just screaming. Screaming long and loud into her arm, her teeth sinking into her skin. She stops when she loses her breath, and she feels a bit better. But she's not there yet. She screams hard, long again. The scream lasts for nearly a minute until she can hardly breathe. She gasps, but she gets only water in her mouth, and for a moment she feels as if she's going to drown. But the pain is gone now. She's fighting not to drown. She doesn't want to. And she turns off the water, suddenly aware to how fucking hot it is. Suddenly aware of the burns that will be on her body in the morning.

She stays in the water for a moment longer, a single tear running down her cheek. And even though she just let all the pain go. Even though she wants to let him go so badly, to let him go away and never come back, she wipes the tear from her eye and knows more than anything that she loves him. She loves him so deeply. And even though this pain is so strong, she wants to keep on loving him. But she doesn't at the same time. She wants him to hurt her again, to hurt her so bad she can't love him. To hurt her so bad that it's unforgiveable. But she knows he won't.

She steps out of the shower and stares at herself in the mirror, proud to see the small cut from the razor across her thigh. She sighs and walks into her room, curling under the covers, naked, her body shivering. Her teeth are clattering together and she doesn't even care. She doesn't care because she feels like she deserves this. She wants to feel like this. She knows it's irrational, but the pain she feels is wanted, needed. Because she feels dead otherwise. And this pain is the only thing that keeps her alive. The only thing that keeps her human. And she wants so desperately to be alive.

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_Review Please!_


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